


Scenes We Would Have Liked to See -- The Ransom

by rabidsamfan



Category: Trapper John M.D. (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, I first posted this on Geocities before the turn of the century, Medical details of dubious accuracy, Missing Scene, aftermath of kidnapping, ancient fic, no, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-06-15
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidsamfan/pseuds/rabidsamfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story inserts between the second to last, and last scene of "The Ransom" - an episode which showed Stanley get kidnapped (shortly after his marriage) and all the trouble that his friends went through to get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Are you all right, Dr. Riverside?" the cop asked.

"I'm fine, fine," Stanley said, in his best manly voice, "But see to Dr. Gates, I think he got a little shook up."

Gonzo shook his head with disbelief. Stanley had been panicking a minute before, but with strangers in the room he put on an act. How typical! And after Gonzo had nearly gotten himself killed too, trying to help! The cops got the ropes off, and went off to collect clues, and Gonzo rubbed his wrists gratefully. The kidnappers hadn't been gentle with their knots, and fighting against them, trying to get loose hadn't made him any more comfortable. He turned to check the gas valve, just to be sure it was shut down, and saw that Stanley was bent over his own folded arms, his face tight with pain.

What's wrong, Stan?" 

"It's nothing," Stanley said, still trying to maintain the image, although his voice had gone high again. "It's just the circulation coming back."

"Here, let me take a look," Gonzo ordered, turning his chair so he could stay on Stanley's level while he examined him. "Did they keep you tied up the whole time?"

"Uhuh," Stanley nodded, extending one hand. His wrist was a mess, and his fingers were puffy and red. No wonder he hadn't been able to untie Gonzo. After two days of being tied up he probably hadn't even been able to feel his hands.

"How are your feet?"

Stanley swallowed. "They've got pins and needles, but it isn't as bad." He let Gonzo look at the other wrist, tucking the first one back against his belly.

"Anything else wrong? Did they feed you?" Gonzo automatically began to check Stanley's vitals. Pupils okay, pulse fast, respiration fast...

"No. No food. No water." Stanley looked even more unhappy. "Nothing. Gates, do you think they'd mind if I stopped at the restroom?" he whispered the last bit, glancing in the direction of the lady cop.

Gonzo relaxed; Stanley might be hungry and dehydrated, but if he could be mortified and image conscious, he couldn't be in very bad shape. "Don't worry," he said, patting Stanley's knee as he got up. He looked to the male cop, "Inspector Stemm, is there a sink or a bathroom or some place we could clean up a little?"

"Yeah, over by the warehouse offices," Stemm said. "You need a hand?"

"No, we can manage," Gonzo said. He put a hand under Stanley's arm and got him upright. Stanley bit his lip, but he didn't complain, and as they walked, he put his feet down a little more certainly with each step. He led the way to a tiny, greasy facility that smelled worse than any gas station bathroom Gonzo had ever had the misfortune to visit. "Gaah. Come here often?" Gonzo joked, trying to let Stanley know he sympathized.

"Just the once," Stanley replied with a thin smile. "They weren't very considerate."

"Are you going to need help?" Gonzo asked very quietly.

Stanley flexed his fingers thoughtfully, and tested them against the button on his jacket. "I'll let you know," he said, and went into the stall, shutting the door, but not locking it.

Gonzo turned on the water in the sink, scrounged out a thin bar of soap and some paper towels, and kept himself occupied by cleaning the sink and washing his own face and hands until Stanley emerged, pale and tear-marked, but fairly composed.

"Here, Stan, wash up a little. I'm not sure how long the cops are going to have to keep you with questions, and this should hold you until we can get you back to the hospital for a shower."

Stanley started washing obediently. He was still clumsy with his hands, but Gonzo noted gratefully that they were starting to look a little more normal. The circulation couldn't have been completely cut off. "I really wish there was a cup or a glass. I'm so thirsty," Stanley said, looking at the water running over his hands wistfully.

"I wouldn't trust anything in here to be clean unless I'd washed it myself," Gonzo said. "Just use your hands."

Stanley looked at him quizzically, and Gonzo demonstrated the technique, realizing that it was unlikely that Stan had ever had to resort to it before. He was a quick study, though, and Gonzo had to tap him on the shoulder. "Not too much, too fast, Stan, or you'll just throw it all back up."

"Right," Stanley said, taking a last sip before splashing the rest of the water in his hands over his face. He dried off with one of the paper towels and fingercombed his hair as he looked into the dirty mirror. "I look awful," he noted, distressed.

"You got kidnapped, Stan. It's allowed." Gonzo wondered how Stanley thought he should look after being tied up for two days. He steered his friend back out toward the waiting cops. "Did they rough you up any?"

Stanley's forehead wrinkled. "Not really. The old one, the one from the hospital laundry, he poked me with his cane a couple of times, but not like he meant to hurt me. But they said awful things about my father, and they watched me all the time until just before they got you. I'm really sorry about that. You almost got killed because of me."

"It's not your fault, Stan. I volunteered to drop the ransom money, and they must have realized that I recognized the old man. I'm just glad the cops were following."

Stanley shuddered. "Me too." He folded his arms again, tucking his wrists under where he could apply some soothing pressure against the pain. "When I was a kid I used to have nightmares about being kidnapped, but nobody ever came to my rescue in them." He smiled shakily at Gonzo, still trying to find the right mask to cover the lingering fear. "Thank you. I don't think they ever intended to let me go."

"You're probably right, there, Dr. Riverside," Inspector Stemm said, catching the last part of the conversation as they drew nearer. "Once you'd seen their faces, they knew you could identify them."

"There were only the two of them, right?" asked Inspector Johnson.

Stanley radiated what he probably hoped was nonchalance. "Uhm. Yes, that's right. Just... Just the two of them. The old man and his son. They never talked about anyone else."

"That's good. We'll have the lab boys go over this place for supporting evidence, but I think all we'll really need to cinch the case is the statements from each of you. Are you up to making out an affadavit? The sooner the better." She eyed Stanley uncertainly.

He glanced at Gonzo. "I'd rather get it over with," he confessed. "But I really want to call EJ first. My wife," he added for clarity to the cops. "She'll be really worried."

"I'm not sure Ernie's gotten a hold of her yet," Gonzo said. "We weren't sure which convention she was at."

"The number was in my briefcase," Stanley said. "Didn't you find it?"

"Your briefcase?" Inspector Johnson asked. "Where did you leave it?"

"In my car." Stanley realized what he was saying and his shoulders slumped. "My convertible. It probably got stolen."

"We didn't find it," she said, sympathetically. "Come on, you can call her from the station."

"And I'd better call Trapper and Arnold and let them know that you're all right," Gonzo said, putting an arm around Stanley's shoulder as they headed out the door. "We were all pretty worried, you know."

Stanley looked surprised, but pleased as he let himself be herded along. "Really? About me?"

"Really." 

\---

Gonzo finished describing what had happened from the time he had started out with the ransom money, and Stemm nodded with satisfaction. "Nice and clear," he said, nodding at the stenographer. "How long to get it typed up in affadavit form?"

"Ten, fifteen minutes," the steno said. "Long enough for you to grab a cup of coffee if you want."

"No thanks, I'm fine," Gonzo said. "Mind if I go keep an eye on Stan?" he asked.

"Well," Stemm said, putting his pencil behind his ear. "If you do, you've got to remember not to prompt him or say anything that a lawyer might twist into collusion. Once we zap these two with attempted murder charges, they're going to want to go for a jury trial, and I'd hate to see them walk on a technicality."

"I just want to see how he's holding up," Gonzo said. "This affadavit stuff takes longer than I thought it would -- and he hasn't eaten anything since lunchtime on Friday."

Stemm frowned. "I didn't know that. Look, two doors over there's a little chinese place called Wong's that makes a good egg-drop soup, why don't we take a minute to grab some of that and some plain rice. That wouldn't be too much on an empty stomach, would it?"

"Sounds perfect," Gonzo said.

They were back inside of ten minutes, and Stemm led the way to the glassed-in side room where Inspector Johnson was interviewing Stanley. They had almost gotten there when Stemm got called by another cop. "Go ahead, I'll be right with you," he told Gonzo, but Gonzo found himself pausing outside the window to assess things before he knocked.

There was a glass of water and a pitcher on the table, and the crumpled wrappers from a couple of candy bars, but Stanley still looked pretty frayed around the edges. He kept shifting uncomfortably on the chair, and his hair had gotten mussed up again. Gonzo noted the dark circles under Stanley's eyes and wondered if the man had gotten any sleep since Friday. He didn't look like it. But he smiled when Gonzo came in the door and straightened himself up on the chair. "Hi. Are you through already?"

"I didn't have as much to tell," Gonzo said. "Here, I got you some soup." He put the cardboard container down in front of Stan and dug the spoon out from the bottom of the bag.

Stan lit up with genuine enthusiasm at the sight of food. "Oh my. That's wonderful." He looked at the detective and stenographer apologetically. "I hope you don't mind if I eat in front of you," he said, courtesy barely winning out over hunger.

"Not at all," Inspector Johnson said.

Gonzo popped the lid off the soup and handed Stanley the spoon. "Start slow," he reminded Stanley. "Give your stomach a chance to get used to the idea."

"Right," Stanley murmered around the edge of the spoon. "Mmm. This is good. This is really good." He took a couple more spoonfuls and then made himself look back up at the cop. "I'm sorry. Where were we?"

"You were saying that you were never moved from that warehouse."

"That's right. And one or the other of them was with me the whole time, until this morning, when they went to get the ransom money."

"Did they tell you that that was what they were going to do?"

"Kenny did. He told me that I'd better hope that the money was there, because if it wasn't they were going to dump me in the desert. And then he put a dirty rag in my mouth, so I couldn't yell for help while they were gone." Stanley made a face. "It tasted like bad whisky. I think it was the old man's handkerchief."

"What happened when they came back?"

"Kenny tied up Dr. Gates, and Pop came over to show me that they'd gotten the money. He took out the gag."

"Why did he do that?" she wondered.

Stanley shrugged uncomfortably and ate another spoonful of soup before he answered. "He said he wanted me to say 'hello,' to Dr. Gates."

Gonzo nodded, remembering the terrified look in Stanley's eyes as the old man had twisted his shoulders around and waved his cane in the bound man's face. He'd taken a real glee in frightening Stanley, and Gonzo felt a pang of regret for having been so impatient with Stanley for giving in to the threats. After two days of helplessness, Gonzo might have given in too.

"Then what happened?" The cop asked.

"Well, Kenny didn't want to waste time, and he got his father to help him put their things together. Then, when they started to leave, Dr. Gates asked what they were going to do with us." Stanley kept his eyes on the soup. "And when we asked to be let go, he said did we think they were stupid and went and opened up the gas valve. I was scared stiff, but Dr. Gates, he hitched his chair over to mine and tried to untie me as soon as they left. And then the gas started to get to us, and then you came in to the rescue." Gonzo put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed a reassurance, and Stanley gave a small sad smile. "And that's all."

"What about the old man? Did he say anything when Kenny opened the valve?"

"He said, 'goodbye'," Stanley said. "Then he left with Kenny. I think he approved, though. He didn't argue or anything."

"Well, I think this will do for the moment," she said. "We'll get it typed and then you can head home. I'll call you if there are any questions later."

"Try the hospital first," Gonzo said. At Stanley's surprised look he added. "Trapper's orders, Stan. He wants me to make sure you've gotten a complete check up. Besides, when EJ gets Ernie's message and your message, she'll probably call there first."

"True," Stanley said, brightening a little. He had had to leave a message at EJ's hotel instead of speaking to her, and hadn't known what to say beyond that he was all right. It wasn't like he could explain the whole mess to the hotel operator.

"All right," Inspector Johnson said. "Once the affadavit is typed up, you can read it through and sign it, and then we'll be ready to let you go get some rest."

"That would be nice," Stanley admitted. He shifted position again and Gonzo studied him for a moment as the two cops left the room, noticing that Stanley looked like he had lost the weight that he had started to put back on after his marriage. He needed a shave, of course, and his skin was pale. Gonzo reached over and took a wrist pulse and Stanley stopped eating to look at him worriedly.

"It's still a little fast," Gonzo told him, when he'd finished counting. "How's the headache?"

"I've almost gotten used to it," Stanley said. "I'm dehydrated. I know. I've been drinking water." He indicated the pitcher and Gonzo looked. It was almost empty. Gonzo poured what was left into the glass.

"Drink some more," he advised. "Have you checked for tenting?"

Stanley shook his head and extended his hand. Gonzo pinched up a piece of skin over his wrist and they both watched as it collapsed, just a tad too slowly, back to smoothness. Stanley bit his lip. "Well, it didn't stay up," he said, his voice worried.

"It didn't go down as fast as it should have either," Gonzo said. "Face it, buddy, you're a quart short." He put the glass in Stanley's hand. "I'll go get some more." He grabbed the pitcher and stood to go.

"Don't..." Stanley started, his expressive face showing his alarm, and then his fight to control it. "Don't take a long time, okay?"

Gonzo was surprised, but he supposed it made sense for Stanley to want company right now. He pointed through the window to the water cooler. "I'm only going over there; you'll be able to see me the whole way," he said. "It's a cop shop, Stan. Nothing's going to happen here."

"I'm okay," Stanley said, taking a deep breath. "I'm fine."

"Good," Gonzo said, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll be right back." 

\---

Gonzo had persuaded Stanley to drink about half the pitcherful by the time that the cops had finished taking them through both depositions for errors. He had finished the soup and rice as well, and his color was a little better, but Gonzo was glad when they were finally done and he could steer Stanley out toward the Titanic, which one of the cops had retrieved for him and parked in the station's parking lot. Stanley was trying to walk normally, but he wasn't succeeding very well.

They got to the RV and Stanley leaned gratefully against it while Gonzo dug out his keys. "I never thought I'd be glad to see the Titanic," Stanley admitted, patting the aluminum siding.

Gonzo got the door open. "I keep telling you it's the perfect living balance of living quarters and vehicle," he teased gently. "I never have to drive myself home. Can you manage the step? You look like you're sort of stiff."

"Too much time in the same position," Stanley said, pulling himself up into the living space with a grunt of discomfort. Gonzo followed him inside and shut the door. Stanley had stopped in the living area to lean against the counter, and rub at the small of his back. "Oh, brother, am I sore. I'd give anything for a shower."

"So take one," Gonzo said. "It's not like anyone's expecting us in the next five minutes. And I've got some sweats that would probably fit you."

Stanley sagged a little at the thought. "Clean clothes. I've been wearing these so long I'm surprised anyone can stand to be in the same room with me."

"Hey, we know it's not your fault," Gonzo said, smiling to show that he was teasing. "Go, on, Stanley. Get cleaned up and I'll give you the once over before we drive back to the hospital."

Stanley had started to take off his coat and tie, but now he hesitated. "Do you have to?"

"I never argue with Trapper when he's right," Gonzo said. "Come on, Stan. Would you rather I gave you an exam in ER with half your staff wandering in to make sure you're okay?"

"Well," Stanley said, uncertainly. He folded his coat and put it on a chair, "I guess not. But won't you need the right equipment?"

Gonzo pulled open the cabinet and flourished a zippered pack. "Field kit I use for the marathon," he said, opening it to display the contents. "Stethoscope, otoscope, sphygmomanometer, tongue depressors, lancets and capillary tubes for blood tests and even..." he tossed the covered plastic cup to Stanley, who fumbled, but managed to catch it in the crook of his elbow, "specimen cups. Not to mention bandages, antiseptics and other doctor necessities." He reached into another cupboard and produced a towel. "Now, get in there and scrape off the mold."

Stanley's smile flickered, but he was relieved by Gonzo's take-charge manner and his preparedness. "Yes, doctor." He took the towel and went into the tiny bathroom.

Gonzo tapped on the door. "I'm turning on the engine, but I'm not moving the Titanic. It's just to make sure you don't run out of hot water."

"All right," came Stanley's reply, and Gonzo nodded. He started the engine and then puttered for a few minutes, finding some old sweats that were so stretched out of shape that they might have fit Trapper in a pinch, much less Stan, making up a pitcher of lemonade from the canister in his freezer, and changing the sheets on the bunk, so he would have a clean surface to work on. He kept an ear cocked, but other than a few grunts, Stanley seemed to be managing okay. It was a relief though, when he emerged, with a towel wrapped around himself and his hair dripping water. "I still need a shave," Stanley apologized, "but I just didn't feel steady enough to do it myself."

"You can go to the barber shop in the lobby," Gonzo said, absently, eying the bruises that crisscrossed Stanley's arms, chest, and legs. The ropes had made those probably, although it wasn't a rope that had left the ugly purplish line on Stanley's shoulder, or the round bruise just below his ribs. Stanley's feet were puffy, and a little blotchy after having been in his shoes for so long, and he was standing as if they hurt. "Why don't you sit down on the bed, and have some lemonade while I shut off the motor?" Gonzo said, but he stayed to watch how Stanley moved and sat and noted the bruises on his back. He handed Stan the glass of lemonade, watching for clumsiness, before he went forward and retrieved the key. By the time he got back to Stanley, the glass was almost empty.

"That tastes good," Stanley said.

"Glad you think so," Gonzo said. He let Stanley finish it and then took the glass and started checking Stanley's vitals. "Your pupils are normal," he reported, and pulled out the blood pressure cuff. He announced each finding, knowing that Stanley would want to know. "Blood pressure is 130 over 90 -- just a little high. So is your pulse rate -- 72. You're a little pale, but not bad. Lie down and I'll see if I can find anything wrong."

Stanley leaned back and muttered yeses and noes to Gonzo's "Does this hurt?s" as the surgeon made his examination. When he rolled over, so Gonzo could check his back, Gonzo flinched at the damage that had been hidden by the towel. Two days of sitting in a hard chair had not been kind to Stanley's muscles. "No wonder you've been walking so awkwardly," he said.

"I don't think there're any actual pressure sores," Stanley said in a voice that was muffled by the pillow he'd wrapped his arms around. "The soap didn't sting."

"No, but another few hours and you'd have had them," Gonzo said. "I'd like to take those creeps and give them a dose of their own medicine."

"Not me," Stanley said, sleepily. "I jus' never want to see them again at all."

Gonzo finished his assesment and applied antiseptic whereever Stanley's skin had been rubbed raw, and then made Stanley sit up long enough to pull on the sweats. By that time, Stanley's eyes were spending more time closed than open.

"Look," the surgeon said. "Instead of sitting up front, why don't you lie down here in the back while I drive to the hospital? Give your muscles a chance to stretch out."

"'Sno seat belt," Stanley objected, sinking back onto the pillow.

"I'll drive carefully," Gonzo promised. He pulled out a blanket and tucked it over Stanley.

"'Snice," Stanley murmered. "I never thought it's so soft." 

\---

It took ten minutes to drive to the hospital, with the traffic at that time of day, and Gonzo gave a happy sigh as he caught sight of the familiar building. "All hail the conquering heroes," he said. "We're here, Stan." There was no response. Gonzo, who hadn't really expected one, glanced back at the next stoplight, and saw that Stanley's chest was moving in the slow pattern of sleep. Gonzo shook his head, half amused, half concerned. He turned back to watch the light and noticed that there was a TV news van turning in to the hospital lot two blocks away. "Damn," Gonzo muttered, and turned the Titanic so that he would come in the hospital from around the side. There were two more TV vans near the emergency entrance -- he could see their extended antennas past the other cars. Gonzo found the back entrance and pulled the Titanic in, looking for a break, and saw Gloria Brancusi sitting over a cup of coffee at one of the outdoor cafeteria tables. He pulled alongside the eating area and tapped on the horn to get her attention. She smiled and came to the driver's window, and he slid it open.

"Is he with you?" she asked. "Is he all right?"

"Yeah." Gonzo grinned his relief, "He's not too bad. Tired and thirsty, but nothing's broken. Climb in and you can see for yourself while I get the Titanic into her space."

"Thanks!" she said, beaming. He waited until he heard he closing the door and then started off again for his own parking space.

"Have you gotten ahold of EJ yet?" he asked as he drove.

"Not yet," Gloria answered. She sat on the edge of the bed and braced herself with one hand while she got a wrist pulse with the other. Stanley shifted position and murmured something, but he didn't wake up. "Hey, Dr. Riverside," she said, not too loudly, "Dr. Riverside."

Gonzo parked and came back to join her. "Don't wake him up, Gloria. This is the first sleep he's gotten since they grabbed him. He's exhausted."

"His pulse is sixty four," she said, automatically, putting his arm back down with a little pat. "He looks exhausted. What kind of people would kidnap somebody and then not let them sleep?"

Gonzo shook his head, still not quite believing it himself. "Remember Pop from the hospital laundry?"

"The old man with the cane? The one who drinks? How could he kidnap anyone?"

"He had help," Gonzo said, tucking the blanket back over Stanley's hands. "His son."

"But," Gloria said, unwilling to believe, "but they wouldn't have really hurt Dr. Riverside, would they?"

Gonzo looked at her distressed eyes and thought of the hiss of the gas. "Yeah. Yeah, they would. They tried to kill both of us, Gloria. And if the cops hadn't come to the rescue, they would have succeeded."

"That's awful," she shivered. "Are you all right? They did get caught, didn't they? They won't try again?"

"Yes, they got caught," Gonzo said, but he was distracted and didn't bother to elaborate. He cracked open the curtain to look out. "Oh brother."

"What is it?" Gloria said, coming to look over his shoulder.

"TV crews," Gonzo said. "If we try to get Stan inside now he'll end up on the six o'clock news."

Gloria looked at the sleeping man and compared his present dishevelment to his usual neat appearance. "He'd hate that," she agreed. "So what do we do?"

Gonzo bestowed his best persuasive grin on her. "Well, I was hoping you could stay with him while I get something rigged. I mean, I don't think anyone knows you're in here, so they won't disturb you. And I don't want to leave Stanley by himself in case he wakes up."

"It's been pretty slow," she said, smiling her consent. "But you'll have to let Ernie know where I am."

"First thing," Gonzo promised. "I'll be back before you know it."


	2. Chapter 2

  
Trapper was in Emergency -- again. He wasn't even bothering to make an excuse this time, and Ernie handed him one of the last oatmeal cookies with a sympathetic smile. "They can't take much longer, Trapper. And you know Gonzo would call if there were anything to worry about."  
  
"I know he said that Stan's all right," Trapper said, "But I'd  _feel_  better if I could just see him for myself."  
  
Ernie nodded. "I know what you mean. It's funny; I was irritated with him on Friday and I let it show, and Stanley went off in a huff, you know the way he does, but I never thought about whether or not he would forgive and forget. I just thought that it must be nice to be so rich you didn't have to worry."  
  
Trapper rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Not about the usual things, anyway."  
  
A commotion at the entrance interrupted them. It was Gonzo, backing away from a pair of cameras, with a cardboard box in his hands. "Look," the young surgeon said. "I told you, I left him at a friend's place, and he's not in any shape for an interview tonight. Haven't you got any stock footage from all the blood drives we've done?"  
  
"Is it true the police have charged the kidnappers with attempted murder?" one of the reporters asked.  
  
"That's what they told me," Gonzo said. "Now if you'll just excuse me..."  
  
Ernie and Trapper looked at each other and went to the rescue.  
  
"Dr. Gates," Trapper said, waving a chart he had grabbed at random. "I need to get your opinion on a patient."   
  
"Gentlemen, please," Ernie said in her clearest nurse-in-charge voice, "this is the Ambulance Entrance, it is absolutely vital that it not be blocked."  
  
The reporters shifted nervously, and one in the back tried to regain momentum. "Dr. McIntyre, Dr. McIntyre, what do you think of the Riverside kidnapping."  
  
"I'm glad it's over," Trapper said, glaring over the top of his glasses. "But if you want details, you'll have to talk to Mr. Slocum. The police spoke to him, not me."  
  
"Fifth floor, on the right," Ernie said, sending Arnold a mental apology, as she pointed to the elevator bank. "Now if you would please clear my corridor?"  
  
The wolves hesitate, but then went in the direction of fresh meat, and Gonzo leaned against the wall and dragged his arm across his forehead with a dramatic sigh. "Whew! Thanks, guys."  
  
"You're welcome," Trapper said, steering the pair of them toward Stanley's office and some privacy. "In here. Barbara," he called to the nurse on the desk, "If the other Dr. Riverside calls..."  
  
"I'll reroute it," she promised.  
  
"Wait," Gonzo said. He put the cardboard box on the counter. "Send these to the lab and ask for a CBC, a blood sugar, and a urinalysis. Stat. And let me know the results as they get them." He turned and went to join Trapper and Ernie in Stanley's office. As soon as they got in the door he asked, "Hasn't EJ called yet?"  
  
"Not yet," Ernie said, taking the seat at the desk. "But the last workshop was supposed to end at five, and it's five-thirty in Chicago now, so I'm expecting a call soon."  
  
"That's good." Gonzo dropped into one of the chairs. "Stanley tried to call her from the police station, but she wasn't in the hotel so he had to just leave a message."  
  
"Where is Stanley?" Trapper growled. "You didn't really leave him at 'a friends', did you?"  
  
"Relax, Trap. He's asleep in the Titanic. And Gloria's keeping an eye on him while I figure out how to sneak him in past all the reporters."  
  
"Asleep?" Trapper repeated, tugging at his beard and frowning.  
  
"Yeah. Once he got horizontal, he went out like a light. He's pretty tired."  
  
"Is he all right?" Ernie asked.  
  
Gonzo waggled a hand. "Mostly. They didn't beat him up much, at least not physically. But they didn't exactly take good care of him, either. From what he said, they kept him tied up in the same chair for the whole time, and didn't bother to give him any food or water. And they didn't let him sleep. One of them was always watching, or telling him how much they hated anyone named Riverside." Gonzo shook his head, remembering how frightened Stanley had been when the kidnappers had tried to kill them. "He's thirsty, and hungry, and just plain exhausted, but I think that's the worst of it."  
  
Trapper didn't look happy. "You weren't here the last time Stan got really exhausted," he said. "He was really strung out. Should I give David Sandler a call?"  
  
Gonzo shrugged. "I don't know, Trapper. Stanley's shook up, but he's trying awfully hard not to give in to it. You know he gets when he's acting some way because he thinks that's how he's supposed to act?"  
  
Trapper nodded.  
  
"Like that. Like he's not supposed to let a little thing like being kidnapped keep him down. I think David won't get any honest answers out of him until he's gotten some sleep and a hug from EJ."  
  
The phone rang, and Ernie picked up. "Dr. Riverside's office, Ernestine Shoop speaking. Oh, hello, EJ."  
  
"Speak of the devil," Trapper said, and Ernie waved him to silence.  
  
"I'm glad you called," she said. 

* * *

In her Chicago hotel room EJ Riverside eyed the box of chocolates she had bought for her husband and decided to open it anyway. She tried to do it quietly. "Hello, Ernie. What's going on? I got an urgent message to call you, and then a message from Stanley, saying he's all right. Why would he call me to say he's all right if he's all right? What happened? Was he in an accident?"

"No," Ernie said. "He wasn't in an accident. And he is safe  _now._  Are you sitting down?"

EJ tugged the top of the box free. "Safe? Safe from what?"

Ernie took a deep breath. "Well, on Friday, as he was leaving work, Stanley was kidnapped."

EJ dropped the phone and almost dropped the chocolates and it took her a few seconds to recover the reciever. Ernie was asking, "EJ? Are you there?" when she got the phone to her ear.

"Yes. I just dropped the phone." EJ found a chocolate creme and held it like a talisman. "Kidnapped? Where is he? Can I talk to him?"

"He's in the Titanic, sleeping," Ernie said. "Gonzo just brought him back from the police station a few minutes ago."

"Stanley fell asleep in the  _Titanic?_ " EJ thought about Stanley's description of Gonzo's RV and stuffed the chocolate into the corner of her mouth. "He's that tired?"

"Here, Gonzo, you tell her how he is." EJ heard Ernie giving over the phone and took the chance to get another piece of chocolate.

Gonzo came on the line. "EJ? It's Gonzo. Stanley's going to be just fine. All he needs is sleep and fluids and a few square meals. He's got some bruises, but none of them are serious. I'd have brought him in to the hospital, but we're under siege by reporters, and he'd just end up on the news looking ragged."

"What did they do to him? Who was it? Did the police catch them?" EJ felt herself bursting with questions. "What did they want from Stanley? Why is he so tired?"

Gonzo wasn't fazed. "He's tired because he didn't get any sleep. They kept him tied up in a wooden chair the whole time, and watched him to make sure he wouldn't yell for help or try to break free. One of the kidnappers used to work for the hospital, and he lost his job when Riverside Senior approved the last round of cuts." She heard Trapper say something rude in the background and Gonzo's voice went distant for a moment as he explained, "It was Pop from the laundry and his son. You know, the old guy with the cane?" Then his voice came back strong again as he addressed the phone. "Anyway, they wanted Stanley's father to pay them a million dollars."

"A million?" EJ put aside the milk chocolate creams and went into her bag for the box of dark chocolates from Godiva's. "For Stanley? From his father?" Her voice cracked. "What did you have to do, put a gun to his head?"

"Actually, we couldn't reach him. Riverside Senior is somewhere off the coast of Tahiti in a boat with the radio off. Some of us put together what we could and we were able to fool the kidnappers into thinking it was enough long enough for the police to catch them and rescue Stanley and me." Gonzo's voice cracked a little, and EJ realized that there was more she had better know.

"Wait a minute," she said. "Rescue you? Why did the police have to rescue you?" And why are you unhappy thinking about it, she wondered.

"Well," Gonzo cleared his throat. "I volunteered to drop the money. I didn't plan on any heroics, but I thought if a cop did it, the kidnappers would know and they'd said no cops. The drop was at a phone booth, and when I got there, they called and said to go to a little carnival nearby. Once I got there, I was supposed to ride the ferris wheel. So I did what I was told, and Pop showed up and took the suitcase full of money just as the ride was starting. You know how long it takes to get off a ferris wheel. I thought he was long gone, but he must have recognized me the same as I recognized him, because when I did get off, he and his son came up and shoved a gun in my back."

"Go on," EJ managed around a mouthful of chocolate when he paused.

"They had Stanley tied up in a warehouse. When we got there, they tied me up too. The police had put a bug in the suitcase with the money, but the kidnappers had dumped that. What I didn't know is that they'd also put a bug in my coat. It turned out to be a good thing, too, because the last thing the kidnappers did before they left us was turn on the gas valve."

"They did what?" She could hear Trapper and Ernie exclaiming on the other end, too.

"They tried to kill us," Gonzo said flatly. "We tried to get out of the ropes, but it didn't work. If the cops hadn't come in... well... EJ, to be honest, I don't think they ever intended to let Stanley go. They never blindfolded him at all."

"Oh, my poor Stanley," she said, too appalled for bad language. "And me in Chicago. Are you sure he's all right?"

Gonzo sighed. "I guess you'd feel better if you could talk to him. It'll take a while to get him in and settled, but then we could call you back. Just don't get worried if he's a little groggy, okay?"

"You don't sound happy about the idea," EJ said

"I'm not," Gonzo admitted. "I'd just as soon leave him where he is and let him sleep himself out. The Titanic is a lot less accessible than a hospital room; and I could keep an eye on him without getting pulled away to look at patients; I've got Gloria out there right now just in case he does wake up, 'cause I don't want him to think he's been abandoned. But if you wouldn't mind waiting, I think he really needs the rest."

EJ bit her lip. "I can't get out of Chicago tonight anyway," she said, trying to think practically instead of emotionally. "I booked for tomorrow because all of the flights were full for this evening in the first place. And knowing Stanley, if you wake him up properly, he'll have trouble falling asleep again, no matter how tired he is. I hate to say it, but keeping him where he is is probably the best plan if you want him to rest."

"He really needs it," Gonzo said, relief in his voice. "What time is your flight?"

"9:00 Chicago time," she said. "I planned to check out of the hotel around eight in the morning. I should get into San Francisco around 1:00 in the afternoon."

"Do you need someone to meet you at the airport?" Gonzo asked.

"Well, Stanley was planning to meet me," she said, "but if he's not up to it I can take a cab."

"He may yet," Gonzo said. "But if not, then one of us will be there."

"Gonzo?"

"Yes?"

"If he wakes up, by himself I mean, and it's before eight Chicago time, would you have him call me? Please?" EJ figured she could have room service bring her meals while she camped by the hotel room phone. She wasn't going to get any sleep, that was for sure.

"Yeah. I'll do that." Gonzo paused for a moment, and she could hear voices. "Listen, EJ, I've got to go -- could you give Ernie the flight number and airline and all?"

"Sure. Thanks, Gonzo." She took the chance to eat another piece of chocolate

Ernie came on the line, her voice rich with sympathy. "Trapper and Gonzo are going down to the lab to check some results," she said. "Now, what is this about an airline?"

* * *

The corridor was starting to fill up with reporters again, some of whom were trying to lurk discreetly in spite of the notebooks that stuck up from their pockets. Trapper and Gonzo looked around them and hustled the lab tech who had come to see them across into the file room. It was empty, except for Jackpot Jackson, who had put his head down on the desk and was sleeping. Trapper shook his shoulder, and the younger doctor sat up, abruptly, pretending alertness. "I'm awake."

"No you aren't, but just listen for a few minutes. Li, have you got those results?"

"What's going on?" the small oriental man asked. "Who's the secret patient?"

"It's not a patient, Li," Trapper said. "It's Dr. Riverside."

Jackpot started, and bit his lip, his eyebrows high with worry.

Li raised an eyebrow, and fidgeted with his glasses. "Dr. Riverside? I heard about the kidnapping. Which room are you going to put him in?"

"Which room?" Gonzo repeated, as he plucked the lab report out of Li's hands and started to scan it. Jackpot got up and looked over his shoulder

"Well, he's very dehydrated," Li said. "The urinalysis -- second page. And his white count is slightly elevated. That's why I assumed it was a patient."

Trapper put on his glasses and read over Gonzo's other shoulder. "Red count's okay. And his blood sugar isn't as low as I expected."

"He ate some soup at the police station," Gonzo said, flipping to the second page. He grimaced at the numbers. "This isn't so good."

Trapper shook his head thoughtfully. He'd been imagining worse. "It's easy enough to deal with, though. Put him on IV fluids for the night and he should be raring to go."

"Dextrose and saline would bring up the blood sugar too," Jackpot added, starting to look more truly alert.

Gonzo nodded, but he was still uncertain. "I'm not worried about the medical part of it, Trap. Stanley's not in real bad shape, but he looks pretty frazzled and he's too tired to walk straight. My question is, do I let him stagger in the door on his own two feet, or try to get him to ride in a wheelchair or on a gurney? Either way, he's going to have to go past all those cameras and reporters."

Trapper smiled, smugly. "None of the above. We'll leave him right where he is and set up the IV in the Titanic. Slip a mild sedative into the mix, and he shouldn't even have any nightmares."

Gonzo brightened. "Good thought. It isn't like there's no one around to keep an eye on him. And the reporters will have to give up after a while if they want to make their deadlines."

"I can put a different name on the paperwork," Li offered. "That will make it easier to keep Dr. Riverside's location a secret. You know how hospital gossip is."

"Use Sam Waters," Trapper said. "If we need any more lab work, we'll send it under that."

"All right." Li took back the lab report and left.

Jackpot looked from Trapper to Gonzo. "Have I got this right? Stanley's in the Titanic?"

"Yeah," Gonzo said. "Are you on duty?"

"Not officially," Jackpot said. "I swapped shifts with Redmond so I could try to raise some money for the ransom at a poker game last night. I'm supposed to go back on at 11 tonight, but I wanted to hang around until you got back with Stanley. What happened to him, anyway?"

Gonzo -- who was getting tired of explaining -- blew out a sigh. "It's a long story, Jackpot."

"I thought you didn't have any money for the ransom," Trapper said.

"I used the money Gloria raised as a stake, but I didn't get back in time. Do you know she sold her car?" Jackpot shook his head. "I'm glad it turned out you didn't need it."

"Look," Trapper interrupted, "Gonzo, the reporters are going to want to talk to you, so you'll have to be the distraction while Jackpot and I go out to the Titanic and get the IV started. We can tell each other stories all night once we've got Stanley taken care of."

Gonzo pulled a face. "Maybe I should just paint, "sacrificial victim," on my forehead for today." He started for the door and then stopped and leaned against the jamb, looking wistfully at Trapper. "Do you think I can get hazard pay for this?"

"No," Trapper said, amused. "But I'll arrange for some beer."

"That would be good." Gonzo pretended to straighten his non-existent tie. "Forward into the breach!" he said, and headed out into the hall.

* * *

There was half of a case of beer left in the box on the floor of the closet in Trapper's office, and two cold ones in his little frig. He had Jackpot put the IV bags and the rest of the paraphanalia in the empty half of the box, while he gave Ernie a call to let her know where they would be. In five minutes, they had gotten out to the Titanic with no more than a few glances from the reporters. Gloria opened the door at the knock.

"I saw you coming," she said. "You aren't planning to have a party in here, are you?"

"Camoflauge," Trapper said, as they clambered in. "How's Stanley?"

"Out like a light," she said. She stood aside to let Trapper and Jackpot get a good look at the sleeping man. Trapper reached the bed first, but Jackpot watched over his shoulder as he turned back the covers to make a cursory inventory.

"Could be worse," Trapper decided, although he was unhappy with the raw bruises that ringed Stanley's wrists, and the used-up look that pallor and thinness gave him, there was nothing that looked like it would leave permanent damage.

Jackpot shook his head. "Sure, but who'd want it to be?"

"From what Gonzo says, the kidnappers," Trapper said. "Give me that IV, will you? His skin feels like dry paper."

"Right," Jackpot said. He went into the box and handed Trapper what he needed.

Trapper shook Stanley gently. "Stan?" he said, "It's Trapper. Can you hear me?"

Stanley stirred and shifted, but didn't open his eyes.

Trapper decided to play it safe, and explained what he was doing. "You're dehydrated, Stan, so I'm going to start an IV, all right?"

Stanley made a two-toned noise that might have been "all right" in someone more coherent and let Trapper take his arm. When the needle went in, though, his eyes opened. "Ow."

"It's all right, Stan," Trapper said. "We're just taking care of the dehydration. You can sleep."

Stanley blinked at him. "John?" he murmured slowly. "'m sorry. Di'n' mean t' ge' k'napt. Tell Eeej."

"She knows, Stan. Gonzo told her all about it. She'll be back home tomorrow." Trapper signalled to Jackpot for some tape to hold the IV in place against Stanley's arm.

Stanley flinched as the tape pinched against his skin, and frowned, "He di'n' know they were gon' kill us. I cou'n' move my han's. My faul'. Careless."

Trapper snorted, wondering why he would be surprised that Stanley would take responsiblity for his own kidnapping. "Nobody's blaming you, Stan. It's not your fault," he said, getting the IV set and adjusting the drip rate.

Stanley's eyes were closed again, but he shook his head fretfully. "'s careless. Dad mus' be angry f'r all tha' money."

"Nobody's mad at you, Stanley. Now sleep. Doctor's orders." Trapper took the hypo with the sedative that Jackpot had prepared and added the drug to the IV.

Stanley made a sound that might have been a protest, but the drug hit his system almost visibly, and he relaxed back against the pillow, his breathing evening out into a deeper sleep. Trapper doublechecked his pulse to make sure that he wasn't reacting badly, but it seemed okay. He turned back to Jackpot and Gloria. "Well, that should keep him for a few hours."

Gloria looked pensive, and Jackpot just looked stunned. "They were going to kill him?" he asked. "The kidnappers tried to kill Stanley?"

"And Gonzo too, from what he told EJ." Trapper pulled out a beer and handed it to Jackpot, and looked an inquiry at Gloria.

"No thanks," she said. "I'm still on duty. What  _did_  Gonzo tell EJ?"

"Well," Trapper began, "the way I understand it..."

* * *

By the time Gonzo got loose from the reporters, and finished reassuring Arnold, he was sick of explaining, and a lot more tired than he thought he should be this early in the evening. As he came off the elevator, Gloria called his name, and Gonzo groaned and came over to drape himself dramatically on the counter. "Sorry, Gloria, whatever it is, I can't face it. Not without some dinner and some sleep."

"Actually," Gloria said. "That's sort of what I had in mind. I hope you like your pizza loaded. We ordered it with everything but anchovies."

"That's just how I like it." Gonzo brightened at the prospect of pizza. Then he frowned and leaned over to ask, "Who's minding the baby?"

Gloria held up a finger and answered something to the person on the other end of the phone she was holding. She nodded, and thanked the person at the other end before she hung up and smiled at Gonzo. "Ernie and Jackpot are taking care of ..." she tipped her head to indicate the parking lot, "matters, right now. Trapper came in to finish up his rounds, but he and I will come out to talk once the pizza gets here."

"If I'm asleep, wake me up," Gonzo said -- and then showed his teeth to the journalist who was trying to edge closer. "It's been a long day."

"All right, Dr. Gates," Gloria said, all efficiency. "Dr. McIntyre asked me to remind you that you have two surgeries tomorrow, so you should try to get plenty of rest. He'll probably bring the charts with the pizza."

Gonzo sagged his shoulders, and wondered if he was spreading it a little too thick. "Of course he will. Maybe a shower will keep me coherent long enough to do some good. See you later, Gloria."

"See you," she said, and turned to corner the reporter. "Now, look here, you know Mr. Slocum has already given a statement..."

Gonzo headed for home. The TV reporters were on the lawn, talking to cameras with the hospital as their background, but their own vans blocked the view as he got closer to the Titanic, and he was able to slip inside the RV without being observed.

Jackpot was curled up in the big dentist's chair, with his eyes closed. Ernie was standing back near the bed, watching Stanley, but she shifted and came over to the counter as Gonzo tugged off his jacket and hung it up. "How are you holding up?"

"I'll live," Gonzo said. "How's Stanley?"

She glanced back automatically before she answered. "The IV is set, and his respiration is steady, so I suppose I can tell EJ that he'll be fine with a clear conscience, but the more I look at him the angrier I get." Ernie folded her arms, and scowled. "And I can't figure out why on earth I should be feeling protective of Stanley Riverside the second. It's not as if..." she paused, frustrated.

Jackpot sat forward and rubbed at his eyes, yawning. "Not as if what?" he asked, reasonably. "Ernie, we're all feeling protective of Stanley right now. It's only natural. Gonzo, do you want a beer?"

Gonzo found a chair and sank into it, waving Ernie into another one. "Yeah, that'd be great," he said to Jackpot and then reached over to take Ernie's hand. "Jackpot's right, Ernie. It's normal to be a little overprotective about someone when they've had a close call. Remember the way we all watched out for Trapper after he got hurt?"

Ernie nodded and squeezed his hand. "I remember. But I wasn't so angry then. And if that's the only reason, then why aren't I worried about  _you?_  You almost got killed too."

Jackpot handed Gonzo the beer he had retrieved from the little frig, and said. "Yeah, but Gonzo can take care of himself."

"And Stanley can't, is that it?" Ernie rounded on the young doctor.

"That's not what I meant," Jackpot backpedalled, jamming a hand into his hair. "I just meant that Gonzo's more-- more self-sufficient. He's had more practice at getting himself out of trouble."

"Hey," Gonzo said. "When those kidnappers stuck that gun in my ribs I did exactly the same thing that Stanley did when they pointed it at him; I shut up and did what I was told."

"Oh, come on," Jackpot said, with the bluntness of the tired. "Stanley's a good doctor, but he's lousy at sticking up for himself. If you lean on him hard enough, he'll back down. That's why it's not fair to lean on him too hard."

"It's not just that," Ernie said, looking back toward the bed. She took a breath, "I think I'm angry at myself, too. I mean, look at how thin he is! That didn't happen in one weekend!"

Gonzo and Jackpot exchanged glances and then looked down at their beers. "No, no it didn't," Gonzo said. "And if anyone else had lost weight that fast, I would have been all over them to get a physical. Or at least some blood tests."

"He did get a physical," Trapper said from the doorway. "Here, Jackpot, grab the pizza."

Jackpot levered himself up and did as he was told, and Trapper reached back to relieve Gloria of the cardboard tray of coffee cups she was carrying. He waited until he and Gloria were inside and the door was closed before he made his way back to take another look at Stanley. What he saw satisfied him. Stanley was sleeping like a baby. Trapper went back to the others, who were collecting slices of pizza and coffee, and they all settled quickly, looking to him for more details.

He took a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. "Stanley's okay. He was pretty depressed for a while there, but David Sandler says he was pulling himself out of it and meeting EJ pretty much finished the job. That's what caused the weight loss and that's why I didn't discuss it with any of you. But I just got through talking to David on the phone, and he says that a trauma like getting kidnapped is likely to leave Stan a little more irritable -- and irritating -- for a few weeks."

"Depressed?" Ernie said thoughtfully.

"A few weeks?" Gonzo asked. "Why so long?"

"Well, it's like after a big earthquake. Every big truck going down the road makes you duck, even though you're trying to act normal. Stanley's likely to be edgy or fussy. Or he might get depressed again. David says we should try to make sure he doesn't start skipping lunch again, or working til all hours." Trapper shrugged, "Having EJ around will make a difference, but she can't be here and take care of her practice too."

Jackpot sat up a lot straighter. "Don't worry, Trapper. We'll keep an eye on him," he promised. "We would have helped before if you'd asked."

"Trapper shouldn't have had to ask," Ernie said. "We should have noticed."

Trapper shook his head, "Stanley didn't exactly announce that he was having problems -- and he managed not to let them interfere with getting the job done. So don't kick yourself, Ernie. I was keeping an eye on him."

Ernie subsided, but she still didn't look very happy with herself.

"So what happens tonight?" Gloria asked.

Gonzo reached back into a drawer and pulled out a deck of cards. "Poker anyone?"

Jackpot grimaced. "How about bridge? I'm kind of pokered out."


	3. Chapter 3

Trapper leaned back in his chair and checked the clock. 10:20. Almost time to go in and wake up Jackpot. The young doctor had been yawning so much that they had sent him inside to sleep in the Doctor's lounge around seven. Ernie and Gloria had stuck around til eight, but by that time Gonzo had been yawning just as much, and the three of them had helped clear out a space on the bunk above the driver's compartment so he could stretch out to sleep. Then Ernie had taken Gloria home to relieve the babysitter, and Trapper had sat playing solitaire and switching off Stanley's IV's when necessary. He was starting to get sleepy himself, now, and he leaned back in the dentist's chair, trying to decide if he was going to need a pillow.

"No!" The cry of protest was from Stanley this time. It had been Gonzo's nightmare earlier. Trapper got up and went over to sit on the edge of the bed while he got a hold of Stanley's hands to keep him from thrashing around and dislodging the IV. "No!" Stanley said again, his eyes flying open.

"Easy, Stan, it's just me." Trapper said. "You're all right."

"John?" Stanley blinked at him. "Where?"

"You're in the Titanic. Careful, you've got an IV in this arm." Trapper showed him the intravenous feed and Stanley subsided into the pillow.

"Not tied up. Good." He seemed to be falling asleep again, but then stirred restlessly and pushed up, dragging open his eyes. "I gotta go."

Trapper, who was just as pleased to know that Stanley's kidney's were functioning all right, had planned for this eventuality, and he had cleared a hook in the bathroom for the IV. He helped Stanley steer himself back onto the bed afterwards and was trying to clear away the crumpled blankets so Stanley could lay down when Stan asked, "Where's Gates?"

"Up there," Trapper pointed to the dangling hand visible from the knot of blankets on the high bunk. "He's kind of tired."

"Oh." Stanley let himself be coaxed into lying down again. "He saved my life, John. Did you send him?"

"Nope," Trapper said. "He volunteered."

Stanley shook his head a little and frowned as his eyes began to close. "I thought maybe he did it for you. He likes you."

"He likes you, too, Stan," Trapper said, remembering all too well how Stanley had told him that he had no one to care for him but Trapper during that miserable night when exhaustion had finally broken down Stanley's barriers. "People do care about you, you know."

Stanley considered that one sleepily. "EJ cares," he offered after a moment. Then he tried to sit up. "EJ. Does EJ know I'm all right?"

"Relax," Trapper said, pushing his shoulder back down. "We talked to her when you first got here, and Ernie said she'd call her from home to give her an update. She's going to fly back on the flight she had scheduled in the morning."

"Is she all right?"

"She's fine," Trapper said, and then had an inspiration. "Listen, Stan, do you still keep a set of clean clothes in your closet?"

"Yes." Stanley looked at him uncertainly.

"Well, I've got to go inside for a minute anyway. I'll stop in your office and bring out your clothes and a disposable razor from the gift shop and bring them back out. That way you can clean up before you try to get in past the newspapermen haunting the entrances and then you can call EJ from your office, okay?" Trapper cocked his head and looked at Stan cajolingly. "You'll be all right for five minutes won't you?"

Stanley wasn't sure he would be all right, said his expression, and Trapper added a little more incentive.

"You can keep an eye on Gonzo for me," Trapper said, knowing that Stan was so close to falling back to sleep that five minutes of quiet would probably work better than a sedative.

"All right," Stanley said, biting his lip. "I'll be okay. Just hurry, okay, John?"

"Be right back," Trapper said, and grabbed his jacket.

He was back inside of ten minutes, and was surprised when Stanley waved a hand at him from the bed as he came in, but it was the last fragment of consciousness that had made the gesture. Stanley was asleep by the time Trapper got the door closed behind him. He smiled and shook his head, and hung Stanley's clothes on the curtain rod. He checked Stanley's IV and adjusted the blanket. He went over to check Gonzo. He found the nightlight and turned it on. Then put the pillow he had swiped from the laundry onto the dentist chair and kicked off his own shoes before spreading a blanket over himself and flipping off the main lights. Maybe it wasn't the most comfortable bed in the world, but he had certainly slept on worse. The important part was the sleep. With any luck, there wouldn't be any more interruptions.

* * *

Sirens. Sirens and an insistent knocking that broke up any chance of further sleep. Trapper opened his eyes and remembered where he was. Gonzo was emerging, rumple haired from his blankets and Stanley had pushed up onto one elbow. Trapper rolled out of the chair and went to unlock the door. "What is it?" he asked, querously.

Jackpot was standing there. "I hate to say it, Trap, but we've got mass casualties coming in. One of the BART trains rear ended another train and the initial estimate is at least 200 people aboard both trains. They just yelled for every ambulance in the city."

Trapper pulled a hand over his face to see if that would help him wake up. "Right. We're coming. Tell the operator to start paging extra lab techs, nurses, and orderlies, and get all the interns in."

"Folder C in the emergency plan file top left hand drawer of my desk," Stanley said, flipping aside the blanket and sitting up. "There's a checklist to follow -- and remind security to get someone to start controlling the flow in the parking lot so the ambulances can get in."

"Right." Jackpot disappeared from the doorway.

Gonzo dropped down from the bunk and started to dig for a pair of clean pants. "Anybody know what time it is?"

"Quarter of five," Trapper grunted, bending down to retrieve his shoes.

"Ow!" Stanley said, and both Gonzo and Trapper turned to see him scowling at the IV feed. "Give me a hand with this, will you, John? I can't work with an IV dangling off one arm."

Gonzo got there first. "Are you sure you're up to this, Stan?" he asked, flipping on the overhead lights so he could get a good look at the rescued man.

Stanley flinched from the bright lights, but no more than Trapper did. He blinked up at Gonzo, defensively. "Well I'm not going to sit out here all by myself, while there are people who need help fifty yards away."

"Your color's a lot better," Gonzo admitted, giving Stanley a quick once-over. "Are you still stiff?"

"A little," Stanley conceded, "but look...." He pinched up a flap of skin over his wrist and it collapsed back down to smoothness with the speed of good hydration. "See? I'm okay."

Trapper, having shoved his feet into his shoes, took a look over Gonzo's shoulder. "Any headache?"

"No," Stanley said. He did look a lot better than he had the last time they had woken up, and if Jackpot was right, they were going to need all the help they could get.

"Okay, Stan," Trapper decided. "But if the headache comes back you make sure you tell Gonzo or me or Jackpot straight away. Promise?"

"I promise," Stanley said, the worried lines fading from his forehead. "Thank you, John."

Trapper snorted. "If you want to thank me, take the extra minute to call EJ in her hotel room. It'll help you concentrate. Hurry up and get dressed, both of you, and I'll meet you inside." He put the stack of shoes, socks and underwear that he had brought from Stanley's closet onto the counter and left.

Gonzo bent over the IV feed. "Your feet aren't going to bother you, are they? I mean, if you have to stand too much?"

Stanley shook his head, letting go of the lip he had bitten as the IV was withdrawn. "I'll be fine as long as I don't have to  _sit_  too much," he countered, waiting impatiently as Gonzo put a bandage on his arm. "Come on, let's hurry."

* * *

One ambulance had pulled up and their was a second one turning into the parking lot as Stanley and Gonzo crossed over to ER. A security cop was coming out, bearing a flashlight and putting on an orange vest, and he turned to intercept them. "Hey, Dr. Riverside," he called, and Stanley paused, apprehension on his features. The cop jogged the last few feet over and took Stanley's hand, shaking it. "We heard. Glad you're okay," he said, giving Stanley a friendly grin before going on.

"Thank you, Peterson!" Stanley replied, surprised, but pleased. He watched the cop trotting off to redirect an arriving car over his shoulder as he and Gonzo went on, and Gonzo caught him by the elbow to get his attention.

"Watch your step, Stan," he warned, as they reached the curb.

Stanley stopped rubbernecking, and turned back to Gonzo. "Does everybody in the hospital know that I got kidnapped?" he asked.

Gonzo laughed -- he couldn't help it -- Stanley was so bemused by the well-wishes of a comparative stranger. "The whole world knows, Stan. The press found out this afternoon. There were TV cameras all over the place earlier."

"Oh," Stanley said, taken aback. "You don't think it would have gotten on the news in Chicago, do you?"

"Call EJ and find out," Gonzo advised. "She's probably awake. She told me she had to leave the hotel at eight, Chicago time."

Stanley watched as the ambulance crew unlimbered a gurney and dashed for the door. "I guess if I talk fast, no one will think I'm neglecting the patients," he decided. "And I do need to go to my office to get my stethoscope and my lab coat."

"Think of it this way, Stan," Gonzo said. "If you hadn't been kidnapped we'd be trying to call you at home."

"If I hadn't been kidnapped," Stanley said, squinting as they came into the bright lights of ER, "I'd be in Chicago with EJ right now."

"Reporter," Gonzo warned, steering Stanley past the knot of doctors and nurses that had converged on the gurney along the opposite wall from the press hound. They passed Jackpot at the counter, cradling the phone on one shoulder as he juggled with a clipboard. Gonzo usurped the clipboard, and Jackpot gave him a grateful look. "How are we doing?" Gonzo asked.

"According to the police there're several busloads of the walking injured coming our way just as soon as they can get them out of the tunnel. Five, ten minutes," Jackpot said to Gonzo and then gave Stanley a brief, worried look, "You gonna be okay for this, Stan?"

"I'm fine," Stanley assured him, straightening his stance a little and wishing he had a tie. Jackpot gave him a thumbs up and a grin, and then tucked into the phone again, asking if he had connected with the police coordinator.

"Five minutes, Stan," Gonzo said, pushing him towards his office. "That's plenty of time to tell EJ that you're all right."

Stanley looked back to see if Gonzo was going to come with him, but the young surgeon was already busy checking the crash carts to make sure that they had enough equipment packs readily available. He took a deep breath and headed for his office, beating back the panic. It wasn't like he was alone in the corridor. And he could leave the office door open. That way if anything... if he had to yell... if he wasn't too frightened to yell... Trapper and Gonzo would hear.

He turned on the lights in his office and checked the closet before he sat down. There was a neat note in Ernie's handwriting with EJ's hotel room number and the phone number to call in the middle of his blotter. His hands were sweaty, and he wiped them against his pants before he picked up the receiver and dialled.

* * *

EJ had packed her bag hours ago, and was trying to choke down the eggs and bacon she had ordered from room service when the phone rang. She grabbed it before the first ring died away. "Hello?"

"Eej? It's Stanley." His voice sounded far away, but at least it was his voice, and her heart did a somersault of elation and worry.

"Oh, honey, are you all right? Did they hurt you? Have you gotten enough sleep?" She clung to the receiver with both hands, trying to transmit a hug across the distance.

"I slept for hours," Stanley's voice was shaking -- and the connection was too bad for her to tell if it was from laughter or another emotion. "I'm fine now. I'm all right. Are you all right? Did I worry you too much?"

"I'm all right," she said, relief sending laughter bubbling up through her words. "I'm wonderful now that you've called. I couldn't sleep at all last night."

"Oh, gosh, honey, I'm sorry," he said, and that made her laugh too.

"I'll sleep on the plane," she reassured him. "And I'll see you this afternoon. You're all right! You're safe!"

"I miss you so much," Stanley said. "I was going to come out to Chicago to surprise you on Saturday."

"I would have loved that," EJ said, imagining him standing next to her in the hotel room, looking out over the Chicago skyline. "Next time I'll bring you with me."

"I'd like that." Behind his voice she could hear the incoherent clamoring of the hospital p.a. system, and his voice was reluctant when he spoke again. "Listen, honey, I can't talk for long. Two rapid transit trains collided and we're about to get the casualties."

"You're going to work so soon?" she asked. "Does John know?"

"He knows. We're talking potentially hundreds of injuries, Eej. They need me."

She wanted to tell Stanley to take care of himself first. She wanted to tell him to rest after his ordeal. But she knew her Stanley, and knew that being needed was the best balm his soul could ask for. "Of course they need you, Stanley. They're lucky that you're there. Just make sure you don't forget to eat or drink something, all right?"

"I will," he promised. "Come home as fast as you can."

"If I have to fly the plane myself," she said.

"I love you, EJ." His voice cracked on the words. "I love you."

"I love you too, Stanley." She tried to let her voice convey how much she had learned about wanting him over the dark watches of the past night, and her gratitude for still having him to come home to. "I'll see you soon."

"Soon," he said, as if he couldn't bear to use the word 'goodbye.' The click of the receiver in the cradle echoed in her ear, and she put the handset down carefully.

"He's all right," she told herself, focusing on the most important thing to know. "He's  _all right_." And then she flopped down on the bed and wept.

* * *

Stanley emerged from his office just as word came back that the buses were arriving, still running the electric shaver over his cheeks as he closed the door behind him. He'd put on a tie, Gonzo noticed, as he fell into step alongside, pacing himself to Stanley's still awkward gait.

"You shaved?" he asked.

"A clean chin inspires confidence," Stanley said, quotation marks in his tone. He'd run a comb through his hair, too. "Mine mostly. I hate looking like a derelict."

"You look fine, Stan," Gonzo reassured him. He offered the two packets he was carrying. "Triage or treatment?"

"Triage," Stanley said, taking the clipboard and the envelope of tags. "I think I'll do better if I'm busy --  _really_  busy."

"Somehow I just don't think that that's going to be a problem," Gonzo said. The doors at the end of the corridor had opened, and the injured were being ushered inside by a dazed looking cop. Almost all adults, some being supported on each side. "Wheelchair!" he called, spotting one woman who was on the verge of fainting, and sprinted forward.

Stanley waded in, giving quick assessments and assigning tags. These were mostly turtles -- people who could wait for treatment -- although broken bones and heavy bruises hurt they weren't life threatening. He moved some people up in the queue when he saw signs of concussion or internal bleeding, but for the most part, he sent them to the holding area in the cafeteria, to keep the corridor clear as the more seriously injured began to arrive. Some of them looked at him oddly, and he wondered why until one woman asked, "Weren't you just kidnapped, Doctor?"

"Yes, that's right," Stanley said, trying not to look too startled. He remembered that Gonzo had said he was on the news. "Here, try to move your hand this way."

"Ouch," she said, and shook her head. "It just won't do it."

"Okay, nurse!" Stanley got the nearest body, "put a splint on this wrist and put her in the line for radiology, and give her 800 mgs of acetaminophen for the pain. You'll be fine, miss, but there will probably be a delay before we can treat you, so you'll have to wait in the cafeteria."

"That's all right," she said, with strained good humor. "The only reason I want to get to work today is to boast about being taken care of by the million dollar man."

"Didn't the news guys say he's married?" a woman in line asked, trying to see Stanley's hands.

"Very happily," Stanley confirmed, his face relaxing into the contented smile it tended to drift into every time he thought about how lucky he was to have EJ to love him.

"Just my luck," the woman joked. "I'm finally going to have an excuse to get a rich doctor to look into my eyes and it's too late to flirt."

Several people laughed, and Stanley glanced over to see if she was pretty. She was, in spite of the darkening bruise over her temple, and even at this distance, Stanley could see that her left pupil was dilated. He looked around to see who was available. "Gates?" Gonzo had just waved a stretcher on to the lab. "Grab a wheelchair, please. We've got a possible concussion here."

"Right, Stan," Gonzo said, looking around for the nearest available wheels.

"You can flirt with Dr. Gates," Stanley told the woman as he pulled her out of the line and started to fill in the tag. "He's the one who rescued me. He may not be rich, but he's one of the best surgeons in the city."

"Actually," Gonzo said, arriving with the wheelchair. "I'm one of the best surgeons in the state, but Stanley has very high standards." He laid a hand on Stanley's shoulder for a moment, like a benediction, before helping to get the woman into the wheelchair. "You holding up all right, Stan?"

"I'm fine," Stanley said, warmed by the concern. "Thank you." He turned to the next patient in line. "Now, what hurts?"

He had gotten the man's vital signs when he became aware of a figure hovering nearby. "What is it?" Stanley asked, not looking around.

"Dr. Riverside, I'm Henry Kwan, from the Chronicle. Can I ask you some questions?"

Stanley shook his head in disbelief and peered into his patient's eyes. "You can ask, Mr. Kwan, but I'm afraid this isn't the best time. I've got to get some initial evaluations done on these casualties. As near as I can tell the on-site people just threw everyone who could walk onto the bus without any kind of examination."

"I just followed the people in front of me," the patient confirmed. "And then there was a bus so I got on it. But now my neck and shoulder are really starting to hurt."

"Try not to move them," Stanley advised. "Mr. Kwan could you push that cart a little closer? Thank you." He put a cervical collar onto the man and signalled for an orderly. "Radiology, spine and shoulder series. Use a wheelchair."

"Sure thing, Dr. Riverside," the orderly said. "Glad to see you're back." He led the patient away and Stanley moved to the next person.

"Have you been working all night?" Kwan asked.

"No," Stanley said, moving to the next person in line. "Where does it hurt?"

"Just give me a green tag and I'll go wait in the cafeteria, doc," the man, a lanky youngster, said. "All I've got is a couple of busted fingers."

Stanley checked his eyes and pulse anyway. "You didn't hit your head or get any other bruises?"

"Nope. But you'd better look at this lady here, 'cause she started off real talkative and she's gone all quiet like," he indicated the small, elderly oriental woman next to him. "Mind you, I didn't understand nothin' she said, but she was talking a lot."

"Thank you," Stanley said, handing over the tag. He bent down to address her, wincing when his lower back twinged a complaint. "Ma'am, can you tell me where it hurts?"

She blinked at him and said something in sing-song chinese. Stanley felt a familiar wave of frustration. "I just need to check your eyes," he said, a little louder, hoping she would understand. Kwan, at his elbow, spouted a few musical words, and the woman relaxed, letting Stanley check her pupils, and pulse. Her skin was clammy, and her color wasn't good.

"I need a gurney here!" Stanley called.

The woman said something else and Kwan bent to catch it. "She says her left side is very painful," he told Stanley.

"She's shocky," Stanley said, writing out the tag as quickly as legibility allowed. "Where's that gurney?"

"Here, Stanley," it was Titus, newly arrived, with his coat still trailing fog. "Glad you're okay. What have we got?"

"Shock, pain in the left side. This is Mr. Kwan, he can translate." Stanley raised his voice to make a general announcement to the arriving staff. "The cafeteria has the greens, we've got yellows in the waiting room, and the reds are in the treatment rooms or labs. Be careful, some of the casualties had no on-site evaluation and we're finding concussions and internal bleeding in the walking wounded."

Titus had lifted the elderly woman onto the gurney and performed a quick check of her side. "Definitely internal injuries. Which room is clear?"

"Try two," Stanley said, turning to the next patient, while Kwan was dragged, not quite willingly, off with Titus. He was interrupted by a quick hug from Gloria Brancusi, who stood back again and smiled at him.

"I was so worried!" she said.

"Me, too," said Ernie Shoop, who had also just arrived, and she laid her hand alongside his cheek for a moment in a gesture that was half reassurance and half nurse's evalutaion of temperature and skin condition. "I'm glad you're on your feet, Stanley," she said, in the implacable, practical tone he knew best, "because there's a whole busload of people pulling up outside, and at least four ambulances."

Stanley wished that he had time to be flabbergasted. He put the image of their faces and their concern into his memory to be savored later and made himself think of the crisis, but it took a few breaths before he could decide on what to do. "All right. Thank you. Miss Brancusi, if you'll finish getting vitals on these last few patients, I think I'd better start doing triage outside, so the corridor doesn't get too crowded for the gurneys coming in. Mrs. Shoop, would you please assign some orderlies with wheelchairs to bring in the patients, as necessary?"

"Yes, doctor," Gloria said, taking a handful of tags and starting with the next patient.

"Right away," Ernie said, her eyes already choosing out possible people.

Stanley gathered up his clipboard and tags and started for the exit. "Jackpot!" he called, seeing his protege bending over one of the newly arrived gurneys. "I'm going to move triage for the walking wounded outside. Can you handle the ambulances?"

"Got it, Stan!" Jackpot said, waving him on.


	4. Chapter 4

Stanley started into the parking lot -- and froze when a voice called out to him. "Dr. Riverside, Dr. Riverside!"

 _This was how it started._  He'd walked into the parking lot and a vaguely familiar man had summoned him to look at someone in pain. Panic rose in Stanley's gut, momentarily overwhelming his best intentions. The small man who had been calling him came to a halt, juggling a tape recorder, and a notebook. "Dr. Riverside, how did your father raise the one million dollars for your return?"

Stanley struggled with thought, speech. "I'm sorry?" he stammered.

"The money? Did the kidnapper's really get the money?"

"Uh... Yes... I mean, I saw them with money," Stanley began to backpedal away from the man's aggressiveness. "But the police must have it. They were caught right away."

"But where did it come from? Did your father sell any of his assets? In particular, did he put his shares of Nash, Peabody & Riverside on the block?"

"I really don't know," Stanley said, beginning to feel more than a little upset.

The security guard, Peterson, approached. "Hey, you, leave Dr. Riverside alone! We've got a crisis here!"

Stanley's perceptions widened again, and he grabbed at the straw with relief. "That's right. That's right." He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't seem to stop. "I've got to work. That's right. Excuse me." He fled toward the bus that was starting to discharge passengers. "Wait! Wait! Don't get off the bus yet!"

"But I'm supposed to leave them here!" the driver protested.

Stanley clambered up into the bus. "Just a few minutes," he said. "Please, I need to talk to you, please sit down." The refugee commuters muttered as they sat, but at least they sat. "I'm Dr. Riverside," he began.

"Hey, weren't you on the news?" A woman asked from the nearest seat.

"Yes." Stanley was beginning to hate the news. "That's not important right now, though. Did any of you get examined by a medical person at the scene of the accident?"

"No," said several voices, and the woman near him added. "They said to get on the bus and someone at the hospital would look at us."

"Damn." Stanley looked out the door and saw one of the orderlies coming up with a wheelchair. "Michaels, go get an ortho cart, please. And make sure it has plenty of cervical collars."

"Sure, Doc!" Michaels said.

"Cervical collars?" One of the casualties asked.

Stanley looked at the uncertain expressions of the people in the bus and ran his hand through his hair. "It's all right," he said, trying to think of how to do this without unduly frightening anyone. "I just like to be cautious. You understand that there are certain kinds of injuries that need a faster response, so I'm going to ask some questions, and try to get the people who need care the most into the hospital first."

They were paying attention.

"Okay. If you're having trouble breathing, or the person sitting next to you seems to be having trouble breathing, raise your hand."

* * *

He'd sent four respiratory distress cases and a possible cardiac case in and was starting on the bleeders when Ernie climbed onto the bus. "Stanley? They need you inside."

Stanley took off his stethoscope and looked up at her, from where he was kneeling next to one of the seats. "Who's taking triage?"

"I am, on this bus," she said. "We've got some of the interns in, and they're covering the other two buses."

"Watch out for cervical injuries," he said, pulling himself up to his feet. "And shock. I've asked people to keep an eye on their seat partners." He handed her the clipboard and the tags, and bent down to try to scope out the parking lot before leaving the bus.

"Got it," she said, and then gave him a measuring look. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he said, and took a deep breath and left the bus. He kept his head down as he crossed the asphalt, hoping no one would notice him until he was safely inside.

"Dr. Riverside!" A woman's voice. That might be safe. He looked. It was Nurse Andrews, her cap perched on hair that was still up in curlers, her face devoid of the light foundation and lipstick she normally wore. She took the last couple of steps to catch up with him as she tucked her car keys into her pocketbook. "I'm glad to see you're all right," she said, taking his arm momentarily, to negotiate the curb. "Who's coordinator?"

"Jackson," Stanley answered, automatically, and then glanced down and saw that her knee was wrapped in an ace bandage. "What happened to you?"

"Rheumatism," she said, shrugging her acceptance of it. "I usually have time to exercise out the kinks before I come to work, but..." she waved a hand at the chaos of the parking lot.

"Isometrics?" Stanley asked, grateful to indulge in inanities if it would keep his mind busy until he was safely inside.

"Karate," she said, flashing him a grin that said she knew exactly how incongruous that mental image appeared. "You might try it, Doctor. It's good for the lower back, you know."

Stanley surprised himself by laughing. "I don't think I'd be very good at it," he said, imagining the look on EJ's face if he were to start breaking boards in his pajamas every morning. It was nice to laugh. Nice to have a karate expert - or at least a karate student - escorting him past the ring of reporters and into the warm safety of ER. Jackpot was just inside the entryway, trying to get a clear look at a deeply wounded abdomen. Stanley went over to help hold down the patient, and Andrews slung her pocketbook over her shoulder and went around to help the EMT get the IV reestablished.

"Thanks, Stan," Jackpot said, as he tucked the pressure bandage back into place. "Pre-op!" he told the waiting orderlies. "Get the labwork done up there."

"Shoop said you needed me," Stanley said, wondering if Jackpot knew that he had a piece of gauze caught in his hair.

"Outside room three," Jackpot said. "I've got head wounds coming back from radiology and not enough doctors to read the pictures."

"Right," Stanley said, "there's something in your hair," he added, gesturing, but not waiting to see if Jackpot found it. He headed for the corridor outside of room three and found eight gurneys, and Gloria Brancusi trying to find a place to put a ninth.

Stanley went to the first gurney and picked up the x-ray envelope that had been left on the patient's chest. He held the x-ray against the light, and swore. "Skull fracture. Miss Brancusi?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"We're going to need to insert a cranial pressure monitor." He glanced down the corridor. "Probably more than one. Could you please fetch the trays?"

"They're on the counter," she indicated with a chin. "But I can't get the hair clippers to start."

One of the orderlies beat Stanley to the device and banged it gently on one end. It started to buzz. "I used to be a barber. Who do you want bald, doc?"

"This one," Stanley said, pointing and then moving down to the next gurney to look at the x-ray there while he had the chance. "No skull fracture. Looks good." There was a second x-ray. "But this arm is definitely broken. We've got one for ortho, here." He scribbled the diagnosis on the patient record, giving the patient a quick reassuring smile, "You'll be fine," and went to the next one. He had cleared six of the gurneys in one direction or another and was back at the first one, trying to find a cranial vein for the monitor, when Trapper went by, pushing a gurney so laden with monitors and and tubes it was hard to see the patient. Stanley met his eyes for a moment, and saw Trapper peer over his glasses, checking. Stanley flushed, pleased that Trapper cared enough to spare a moment to be concerned, and smiled to let Trapper know he was okay before he went back to inserting the monitor sensor.

He felt a curious duality. On the surface, he was busy, making medical decisions, doing delicate procedures, ordering tests and admitting patients. But part of him was tense with expectation, flinching away from canes and painfully aware of the holstered guns of the cops who occasionally came through with the casualties. He began to become inured to people calling him by name, though, as the morning wore on and so many of the arriving staff took a moment to address him, or lay a hand on his arm or shoulder as they passed. By the time they had cleared out the critical patients, and he was down to putting in stitches on the minor injuries, he was able to joke a little with the patients, and reassure them. Miss Brancusi stayed nearby, fending off the reporters who wanted to talk to him, and producing paper cups of water whenever she thought he could take a moment to take a drink.

By seven o'clock, they were able to start working on the patients from the cafeteria, and the other holding areas, and by eight o'clock, the specialists and private practice doctors were arriving to take over the patients who needed consults. Jackpot pulled Stanley off the floor and into his office long enough to wolf down a couple of donuts, and report on the situation status.

"We got 175 casualties, and have admitted 78 of them for treatment or testing, so far." Jackpot riffled though his papers. "The rest are minor cuts, broken bones, and sprains, and we're treating and releasing them as quickly as we reasonably can. From what I understand, Bay General has numbers that are about the same."

"Not too bad, considering." Stanley's planning had figured on twice that many serious casualties. "How many surgery cases?"

"Only fifteen," Jackpot pushed up his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Some of the head jobs may end up there later, but that's up to the neuros."

"Any DOA's?" Stanley asked.

"Not here. Bay General had a couple. We've got the driver of the second train, though, and he's critical -- Martin's operating on him right now -- and from what I saw I'd say his chances are pretty slim. But other than that I think we got off pretty lucky."

"I thought we'd lost Martin," Stanley said, startled.

"We did," Jackpot said. "But he hasn't had a chance to find another position yet, and he thought we could use the help. I wrote up the paperwork as a consult to keep the liability insurance people happy."

Stanley nodded and ate the last bite of his donut. "Good thinking."

"Thanks." Jackpot leaned agains the desk and let his eyes close. "What a lousy weekend," he sighed.

Stanley hadn't truly believed that anyone but EJ and John would miss him. Would care. He had hated every minute of being kidnapped. But it was almost worth it to discover that Gonzo would come to his rescue, that Ernie and Gloria had worried, and that Jackpot had had a lousy weekend because Stanley was in trouble. The small solicitudes of the other staff, the obvious concern of his friends, and the miracle of his father  _caring_  enough to arrange for the ransom from somewhere else in the world -- Stanley's astonishment welled up inside of him and burst out as laughter.

Jackpot blinked and blushed, realizing what he had just said, but then he started to laugh too, and it was a minute before he could catch his breath enough to say, "Sorry."

Stanley waved away the apology. "Lousy!" he repeated, with tired glee. "A lousy weekend!" He could tell that he'd have to stop laughing soon, or he'd end up crying, but it took Miss Brancusi poking her head in the door to give him enough of a reason to try to pull himself together. "Yes?" he asked, trying to look professional, while Jackpot choked down giggles.

"I'm sorry," Gloria said, torn between amusement and concern. "But we've got a car accident victim coming in -- we need you, Doctor."

"Coming," Stanley said, getting to his feet. He appropriated the checklist clipboard from Jackpot as he went past. "Why don't you go see what you can do about all those sprains, and I'll take coordinator until Titus is freed up. And when the waiting area is clear, sign out and go home. You look exhausted."

"Thanks, Stanley," Jackpot said, surprised, but clearly pleased by Stanley's show of consideration. "I'll do that."

* * *

Trapper came down from the operating rooms to see how things were doing a little after nine, and found Stanley propped against the nurses' station counter, talking to someone on the phone. "Well, if you do get through, tell him that his son called. His son. Stanley. Oh, never mind. I'll try back later." He hung up the phone with a wry expression, but then noticed that Trapper standing there and brightened. "Hi, John. How is your patient?"

"Doing nicely, thank you," Trapper said. "How's ER?"

Stanley waved a hand at the nearly emptied corridor. "We're almost back to normal. Just a dozen or so sprains left, and I managed to snag all of the interns to deal with them. It's good practice." He looked past Trapper curiously. "Where's Gates?"

"Still in OR three, with Martin," Trapper said. "Where's Jackpot? I've got some paperwork for him."

Stanley took the sheaf of paper, and glanced at it. "I'll take care of it, John. I sent Jackson home to get some sleep. He's supposed to look at the patient's tonsils, not the other way around."

Trapper chuckled, reassured that Stanley was holding up all right for the moment. "Did you get any breakfast yet?" he asked.

"Two donuts," Stanley said, reading through one of the sets of lab reports. "John, did we get this patient onto a cardiac monitor? I don't see a notation."

Trapper pulled his glasses down from his forehead to his nose and took a look. "Hmm. I'll check on it." He looked over the glasses at Stanley. "Tell you what. By the time I get done with rounds, Gonzo should be out of OR. I'll buy you both breakfast at the cafeteria."

"I'd like that," Stanley said, quietly pleased. He was beginning to feel a little tired, to be honest, but there was a lot of paperwork and re-stocking of emergency supplies to be seen to, and he didn't feel like he could leave ER until the basics were done. Breakfast with John would be good incentive.

Ernie turned up half an hour later, having rearranged the nursing staff to cover, and found Stanley wavering between the paperwork and the supply closet. When he saw her, he sagged a little with relief. "Mrs. Shoop? Would you mind going through all of these admission forms? They're giving me a headache."

"Are you sure it's the forms?" Ernie asked, taking the paperwork off his hands. She thought he looked a little pale, and his hair needed combing.

"I think so," he said, frowning thoughtfully. "It doesn't feel like the one I had yesterday. And I've been drinking plenty of water, haven't I, Miss Brancusi?"

Gloria came out of the closet, with a stack of clavicle braces propped between her hands and her chin. "Two quarts since seven this morning," she confirmed. "Maybe you're just tired, Dr. Riverside."

"Well," Stanley said. "A little. But this work has to get done. And I have to have breakfast with John in a little while, and then I have to pick up EJ at the airport -- if I can find my car keys. Did you run across my car keys this weekend, Mrs. Shoop?"

"I'm sorry, Stanley," Ernie said, knowing perfectly well that his keys had been in his labcoat pocket until she had put them into one of his drawers. "I think you might have to get a locksmith. But EJ has a spare key for the car, doesn't she?"

"Of course," Stanley smiled. "That's it. We can get a new key made from EJ's set." He frowned. "But how am I going to get to the airport?"

" I can pick up EJ," Ernie said. "In fact, when I spoke to her yesterday, that's what I told her to expect. And I've already arranged for coverage."

"Really?" Stanley's face fell. He really wanted to see EJ.

"Well I knew you'd be tired, after the weekend you'd had," Ernie consoled him. "And while I wasn't expecting a train disaster on top of everything else, I thought it would be easier if you didn't have to fight the airport traffic."

"Not to mention baggage claim, and all the people in the terminals. You know how exhausting the airport can be," Gloria contributed, laying it on even thicker. "And it's so  _public._  I mean, if you wait and meet EJ here, in your office, at least you can close the door."

Stanley blushed to the tips of his ears. "That's true," he said. "If you really don't mind..." He looked at Ernie, to make sure that it was all right. It would be a while before he would impose on people thoughtlessly. He didn't want to take any chances. You never knew if you might be offending someone. "I guess there's a lot of work to do here, actually."

"Speaking of which," Gloria said, "Could you...?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Stanley got out of her way and looked down at the list in his hand. "Hemostats, hemostats, 23 hemostats...." He started to look along the shelves. "Who arranged this place anyway?"

Ernie shook her head, smiling, and took the stack of paperwork to the front desk, to work on while she answered the phone. Stanley would be okay for the moment -- or at least until Trapper or Gonzo were around to block tackle him and get him to calm down a little.

She kept an eye on him anyway, and decided that it wasn't entirely Stanley's fault that he got more and more frantic as the minutes passed. The interns kept pulling him aside to doublecheck their work, and with the support staff as decimated as it was, there really wasn't anyone else available to make sure that all of the emergency treatment rooms were up to standard. Even she had to interrupt him to make sure that certain items on the paperwork were correct. And Stanley, who usually could handle half a dozen things at once, which was part of what made Emergency run as well as it did, kept having to stop and think about what to do next. When Gloria handed him a cup of water, Ernie saw him glare at it for a moment before he reminded himself that he was supposed to drink it. He was back in the depths of the supply closet when Gonzo showed up with Trapper.

"Where's Stanley?" Gonzo asked Ernie, stretching his back against too many early morning hours in surgery.

"The Supply room with Gloria, trying to put this place back together again," Ernie said. "That is, if an intern hasn't pulled him into one of the treatment rooms, or his phone hasn't rung again. I swear, if we don't get some more personnel back in this hospital, we're going to find that we need the doctors to mop the floors."

"How's he holding up?" Trapper asked.

Ernie waggled a hand back and forth to indicate so-so. "I think I've finally figured out what the word 'frenetic' means," she offered. "See if you can't get him to take a break, please, Trapper? He's been drinking plenty, but he still has a headache."

"Low blood sugar," Gonzo opined. " _I've_  got a headache, and it is going to require a three egg omelet -- at least."

Trapper chuckled agreement. "We'll see if some breakfast does the trick for Stan. And if not, there's always the sedative." He and Gonzo started down the corridor toward supply.

Ernie leaned over the counter and called after them, "Trapper, you aren't going to need me to scrub this afternoon, are you? I promised Stanley that I would go and pick up EJ at the airport. He's not fit to drive."

"That's fine. I'm rescheduling the Paterson case to tomorrow," Trapper said, waving her an okay. "He's got a low grade fever, and I'd like to have a full night's sleep before I go in."

"Thanks, Trapper. Have a nice breakfast."

Gonzo and Trapper caught up with Stanley as he came out of the supply closet, balancing a box of tracheotomy kits on top of a box of suture kits, and looking back over his shoulder to ask Gloria a question. He jumped when Gonzo took the boxes out of his hands. "What? Oh, oh, Gonzo. John. It's you. Um. We're just trying to finish distributing the supplies."

"So I see," Trapper said, taking Stanley's arm. "But Gloria knows what to do. It's breakfast time."

"You remember breakfast?" Gonzo said, cheerfully abandoning the boxes onto a nearby wheelchair. "Eggs. Bacon. Fresh orange juice?"

"But..." Stanley protested, worried lines deepening on his forehead. "we aren't finished."

"I've got it covered," Gloria said, coming out to rescue the supplies. "You go on, Dr. Riverside. There aren't that many things left to do. And it might help your headache."

Trapper pulled Stanley along, "Speaking of which, I thought you were going to  _tell_  me if the headache came back," he said, sternly.

"Yeah, Stanley," Gonzo put in. "You promised."

Stanley forgot about the supplies, and let himself be herded toward the cafeteria. "Well, I knew you were coming back, John, and Gates was in surgery, and I sent Jackpot home, so..." He looked abashed. "I did tell Mrs. Shoop," he offered apologetically.

"Did you take anything for it?" Gonzo asked.

"Aspirin. And I asked the lab for a UA, but it hasn't come back yet." Stanley looked so worried that Trapper couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay, Stan. That's good enough for me. Now, how do you like your eggs?"

* * *

(and segue into the last scene from the episode....)

**Author's Note:**

> I just found a mirror site which had my old page for Stanley on it, and got inspired to post the fic here, just for fun. The story itself was written before the turn of the century, and doesn't _that_ make me sound like I should be shouting at y'all to get off my lawn?
> 
> http://www.geocities.ws/Hollywood/Academy/7632/index.htm if you're curious. The original background was a lovely shade of medical green.


End file.
